


Oblige

by lyin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (it's always my genre), (no), ...gradually, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fred Weasley Appreciation, Gen, Humor/angst, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Sirius Black may be Sir Not Appearing in this Fic and yet, and 'all' may be a stretch, can you ever really escape Sirius Black in my fic, gradually getting all of the fic i've written onto ao3, spot the les mis lyric reference, werewolf faux pas, written in 08 and still canon complaint in 19!, yes even post the Remus Lupin biography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-02
Updated: 2008-07-02
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyin/pseuds/lyin
Summary: Remus and Nymphadora have a tête-à-tête as the Order moves out of that Noble & Most Ancient Headquarters. Everyone else sent her flowers while she was injured...





	Oblige

**Author's Note:**

> _Loving someone is also loving someone's happiness._
> 
> _Francoise Sagan_
> 
> Written for the Reviews Lounge's French Challenge back in the summer of '08

Nymphadora corners Remus Lupin for a tête-à-tête in the back hall as the Order's leaving Grimmauld Place for good. He has no way to dodge her, since Fred Weasley's still gathering up his mother's cooking supplies in the kitchen behind him and she'd likely only follow him, anyhow.

Her hair is flattened as if damp, longer than usual though still well-short of her chin. It might have looked chic if not for the goose-egg bump still pushing at the back of her head. More disconcertingly, it's black, a too-dark, almost blue-black, a color Remus never imagined seeing on her. He supposes it's Nymphadora's fashion of mourning.

His hands are full with Sirius' remaining bottles of firewhiskey, the ones Remus had chosen to pretend weren't under the kitchen sink, with a few more tucked under his armpits, and Remus realizes, with some distress, he is utterly defenseless. If necessary he could drop a few bottles to reach his wand, but that would be a rather frightfully obvious maneuver.

"You planning on sharing those?" says Nymphadora, gesturing to the bottles with a tilt of her head. He can tell she's trying desperately to sound blasé but in actuality is formidably angry. "I could use a good drink."

He glances down at the peeling labels of the bottles, many of which looked like they'd outlasted the First Order, and can practically feel the seasoned, heavy drops rolling against the back of his mouth. "I thought," Remus says, and continues on quickly, so she doesn't have time to tell him _you think too much_, "perhaps we were best being rid of these. It's… a poor time for toasts," he says, because he has raised too many glasses for dead friends in his time and he hates that now, and soon, it will be _her_ turn to drink to empty chairs. He hopes he never has to lift a pint in honor of Nymphadora Tonks.

"If you say so," she says, voice still sharp. "Let me give you a hand, then."

She steps closer, moving to take the bottles he has tucked under his arm. He catches his breath and steps back. "You shouldn't even be out of the hospital yet," says Remus quickly. "You don't need to be carrying things, Dora."

She makes a clicking little sound of annoyance with her tongue at her less-preferred name. "Look at you, all _chivalrous_. They're hardly heavy- and, for that matter-" She flicks her wand and the bottles wrench out from under his arms. He releases his grip on the ones still in hand and watches as the bottles bobble away, without so much as a glint of light in this dingy hall to set them sparkling. They clash under the noses of dead house elves all the way to Bill and Arthur, packing up everything by the front door.

"You moron," she adds, with relish, and pokes him in the chest with her wand. "Now. What's wrong with you?"

His lips twist.

"Besides Sirius," she says, cringing too because it's far too fresh. Her wand arm drops, limply, to her side and she looks away. "I'm gonna miss him too," she says, for once softly, but then, angrily, "and I wish I'd heard it from _you_, rather than Moody- he's brilliant with sympathy, I'll have you know. Waking up to Moody's eye an inch from my forehead and hearing 'Black's dead' before my mother can even ask if I'm alright was certainly _something_, Remus," she says, her eyes flickering a grey he finds very sullen. "You could've come."

"I- am very glad you've recovered," he says lowly, "and I certainly meant to pay my respects, but-"

"Pay your respects?" Dora snaps. "Do I look dead to you? Seeing if I'm alive isn't supposed to be about being polite, Remus. _Bill _even went to the bother of bringing me flowers."

Remus starts, disconcerted. He wishes he had the bottles back, simply so he would have something to do with his hands. "Bill Weasley?" he says.

"Yeah. Sort of thing friends are supposed to do. But then I guess you're rather out of practice."

His shoulders stiffen and he can see her eyes fade to something like regret, to a shade reminiscent of denim.

"I get that you might have been too upset to bother about me, but I thought-"

"I was _quite_ concerned for your well-being," Remus says, as stiffly as possible. "Nymphadora, can we get into this another time?" He wonders how much of this Fred Weasley can overhear from the kitchen and what's taking him so long anyhow. An interruption would be very welcome.

"I dunno," she says thoughtfully, leaning against the wall. "No one's sure yet where the Order's next rendezvous point will be, and if you're going back underground…" She waits expectantly, biting her lower lip, but he doesn't respond. "Well. I'd like to at least know where I stand."

"Currently, in front of me," he says, somewhere between desperation and exasperation. "I'd map it out for you, but I'm afraid the whole building's Unplottable."

She smiles, slowly, and it's rather radiant. "See, that's a bit funny," she says. "Except you are afraid, Remus, that's the trick, and really, if you weren't really thinking about me because your best friend_ left _is gone, I don't mind that- I get that. You deserve that. But I've known you for a while now – feels like forever, dunnit?- and I'm _afraid_ you didn't visit me because you thought it'd be some sort of werewolf faux pas with my Mum and Dad there and all."

He is not at all amused. "Your Mum and Dad are my contemporaries," he snaps.

"Only _practically_," Dora interjects, but he barrels on.

"I did consider it might look, yes, odd, for a man of my age and position-"

"To what?" she says, raising her voice. "Bring me flowers? Moody brought me flowers. Kingsley bought me flowers. Fred and George sent me _mountains_ of flowers- Mundungus picked me dandelions."

Bill pokes his head in from the other room behind Tonks' back, and quickly removes it. Remus winces.

"If it'll make you happy," he says, in a fast whisper, "I'll get you flowers. Yes? Will that be a proper apology?"

"I don't want you to apologize," she says, and it's her who looks apologetic, as she runs her fingers through her hair and lets it turn very choppy and sort of russet. Still brunette, which does not suit her half so well as pink, or even purple, and he has wondered, not that he'd admit it, what her hair looks like in greens and blues.

"I can't suss out what you do want," says Remus, now definitely exasperated.

"You would," she says, "if you weren't so horrendously noble."

He stares at her, because Remus does, in fact, have an idea of what Nymphadora might want from him, but it is absolutely, utterly preposterous and he refuses to entertain the idea.

"Have you finished the kitchen, Remus?" calls Arthur, and Remus can hear Bill hiss "Dad," but Arthur keeps going. "I thought you might give me a hand with the library, see if there's anything essential before we clear out entirely."

"One moment, Arthur," says Remus, tightly, and lowers his voice again. "Nymphadora-"

"I don't really mind my name, the way you say it," she says, tilting her head thoughtfully. He can see little flecks dance in her eyes and he can't help but picture what color they might turn next, or what shade they might slide to in certain situations he tries very hard not to picture. "That's the first time in my entire _life_ I haven't really-"

"You should go help Bill," he says, struggling to get out each word, which is how it's been for him, again, since Sirius went. Even when he was being difficult, his friend had a knack for making everything come so easily. Remus supposed it had something to do with nobility, not the kind Dora was talking about but the kind in her blood. Sirius never did have a concept of noblesse oblige. He suspected Dora, too, might find the whole notion silly. Remus does try, though, to conduct himself nobly, even if he's anything but privileged, and so he's trying very hard to do the right thing, right now.

Nymphadora bristles and straightens, like a steel rod has been suddenly lashed to her spine. With her shoulders back and chin up, for the first time in knowing her Remus finds himself disturbingly reminded of the sisters Black he's old enough to recall from when they were Dora' s age, and in an instant of déjà vu of the dim light and her dark hair he remembers exactly how passionate and proud and dangerously stubborn the women of Sirius' family have always been. And he is, for a moment, afraid of that blood in her veins that is sure to gets it way, because however she might see him, he's not _that _noble and as always, he would really quite like to oblige.

"If it makes you happy," she says, studying his expression, which he hopes seems sincere and vaguely upbeat. "I _will_ see you later, Lupin," she adds, somewhere between a promise and a threat, before she turns on her heel and strides, rather gracelessly, down the hall.

He hears a snicker from behind him and turns, sighing, to find Fred with a small sack over his shoulder. The bag is very small but Remus knows that in it is all the things they have brought to make Grimmauld Place more homey- his favorite mugs for hot chocolate, Molly's pie pans and placemats, the still-full and cheerfully-colored boxes of Muggle cereal that Dora had brought by for mornings when no one felt like summoning up breakfast.

Remus clears his throat. "_Mountains_ of flowers, Mr. Weasley?"

"Well," says Fred, grinning ear-to-ear. "Tonks _is_ something."

"She does have a certain je ne sais quoi," says Remus, eyes on the ceiling. With a thought, he flicks them down to Fred Weasley's open-mouthed expression. "I would prefer you don't tell Nymphadora I said that," he adds.

"Not a problem," says Fred, crossing his heart. "It's all Gobbledygook to me, Professor." He winks. "I'd steer clear of Bill, though… he's been practicing his French. I suppose you're familiar with the word fiancé?"

"What?" says Remus.

"Bill's not interested in Tonks. Tonks is definitely not interested in Bill. Sounded like you needed a translation." Fred adjusts the bag and smirks, and he couldn't look more unlike Sirius than anyone in the world, but Remus would swear the smirk's the same. "Are you familiar with _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_?"

Remus blinks and shakes his head, ever so slightly, in disbelief. "Keep packing, Fred," he says, wearily. He feels like laughing for the first time in weeks, now, since before Sirius fell through the veil, or Nymphadora down the stairs, right back to before Harry fell into trouble. Of course, falling, it was hardly any of their faults. Remus isn't sure there's help for things like falling, besides hoping for the best and trying to keep anyone from noticing you've been bowled right over. "And besides," he adds quietly, with a slight smile. "There's at least fourteen tactics that are fail-safe."

"Like I'll believe that from you?" says Fred, arching his eyebrows. "You didn't even send any flowers- that's number _two_."

"I'm not trying to charm anyone," says Remus, aggrieved, but Fred's already not listening, but running up the stairs this last time like he had the whole summer before, laughing out an "_Oi, George_!" that Remus sincerely hopes has nothing to do with his recent eavesdropping.

Nevertheless, he suspects it would make Nymphadora happy if he'd oblige and send her flowers, however belated, for her speedy recovery- _just flowers_, he tells himself, _there's nothing improper about that_\- especially since he's noticed when she's happy, her hair tends to be pink.

And Remus must admit- though certainly only to himself, in the stretching silence of this Noble House of Black that they're leaving to gather noble dust till some undreamed of day- he does, very much indeed, like seeing Dora's hair as pink as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm participating in PitMad on Twitter today (9/5/19 for the record, since I'm going to switch this fic over to its Actual OG Publication Date soon enough -- love that you can do that on the archive), pitching my Actual Original Novel which I'm already querying, and deciding I direly needed something to refresh other than Twitter, have decided it was the time to finally move this fic onto here. If you haven't found it before, hope you've enjoyed the read!
> 
> ...and if you want to know what the heck I'm rambling about you can always find me on Tumblr at thegirlwholied <3


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